School of Music
U N C G
Díana Darlene Thompson
soprano
Konstantza Chernov
harpsichord & piano
assisted by:
Andy Bonner, violin
Brian Carter, cello
Graduate Recital
Sunday, March 1, 2009
7:30pm
Recital Hall, School of Music
Program
Lʼamerò, sarò costante, K 208, No. 10 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Il Re Pastore (1756-1791)
Neun deutsche Arien für sopran, Violine und Basso continuo Georg Frederich Händel
Süβer Blumen Ambraflocken, HWV 204 (1685-1759)
Singe, Seele, Gott zum Preise, HWV 206
In den angenehmen Büschen, HWV 209
Suleika I, Op. 14, No. 1 Franz Schubert
(1797-1828)
Suleika II, Op. 31
Intermission
Fiançailles pour rire (1939) Francis Poulenc
La dame dʼAndré (1899-1963)
Dans lʼherbe
Il vole
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Violon
Fleurs
Songs for Leontyne Lee Hoiby
Winter Song (b. 1926)
In the Wand of the Wind
Autumn
Díana Thompson is a student of Dr. Nancy Walker.
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Master of Music in Performance
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart:
Lʼamerò, sarò costante
Libretto by Pietro Metastasio (1698-1782)
Il Rè Pastore
L'amerò, sarò constante:
Fido sposo, e fido amante
Sol per lei sospirerò.
In sì caro e dolce oggetto
La mia gioia, il mio diletto,
La mia pace io troverò.
Georg Frederich Händel:
Süβer Blumen Ambraflocken
Neun deutsche Arien für sopran
Süβer Blumen Ambraflocken,
euer Silber soll mich locken
Dem zum Ruhm, der euch gemacht.
Da ihr fallt, will ich mich Schwingen
himmelwärts und den besingen
Der die Welt hervor gebracht.
Singe, Seele, Gott zum Preise
Singe, Seele, Gott zum Preise
Der auf solche weise Weise
alle Welt, all Welt so herrlich schmückt.
Der uns durchs Gehör erquickt,
Der uns durchs Gesicht entzückt,
Wenn er Bäumʼ und Feld beblümet,
Sei gepreiset, sei gerühmet.
In den angenehmen Büschen
In den angenehmen Büschen
Wo sich Licht und Schatten mischen,
Suchet sich in stiller Lust
Augʼ und Herze zu erfrischen.
Dann erhebt sich in der Brust,
Mein zufriedenes Gemüte
Und lobsingt des Schöpfers güte.
Franz Schubert:
Suleika I
Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-
1842)
Was bedeutet die Bewegung?
Bringt der Ost mir frohe Kunde?
Seiner Schwingen frische Regung
kühlt des herzens tiefe Wunde.
Kosend spielt er mit dem Staube,
jagt ihn auf in leichten Wölkchen
Treibt zur sichern Rebenlaube
The Shepherd King
Only one can hold me captured,
Faithful ever, With heart enraptured!
None can sever my love from me.
Lifeʼs true blessing is my new treasure,
Love professing, I find peace and pleasure.
My beloved is all my joy.
Sweet Blooms with your Amber Petals
Nine German Arias for Soprano
Sweet blooms with your amber petals,
your silver radiance entices me
And the glory is his who made you.
And when you fall, I will soar
up to Heaven and sing of Him
Who brought the world into being.
Sing, O my soul, Sing in Praise of God
Sing, O my soul, Sing in praise of God
Who in such wise ways
All the world so masterfully decorates
He who through our hearing stimulates us
He who through our sight delights us
Making trees and fields bloom with flowers
Let him be praised, let him be renowned.
In These Delightful Groves
In these delightful groves
Where light and shadow intermingle
Their ease in quiet pleasure
My eye and heart seek.
Then in my breast
My contented soul is exalted
And praises the creatorʼs goodness
What does this motion mean?
Does the east wind bring glad tidings?
The refreshing movement of its wings
chills the heartʼs deep wounds.
It plays gently with the dust,
chasing it into light clouds,
And drives the happy insect people
der Insekten frohes Völkchen.
Lindert sanft der Sonne Glühen,
kühlt auch mir die heissen Wangen,
Küsst die Reben noch im Fliehen,
die auf Feld und Hügel prangen.
Und mir bringt sein leises Flüstern
von dem Freunde tausend Grüsse;
Ehʼ noch diese hügel dustern
grüssen mich wohl tausend Küsse.
Und so kannst du weiter ziehen!
Diene Freunden und Betrübten.
Dort, dort wo hohe Mauern glühen,
dort findʼich bald den Vielgeliebten.
Ach, die wahre herzenskunde,
Liebes hauch erfrischtes Leben,
Wird mir nur aus seinem Munde,
kann mir nur sein Athem geben.
Suleika II
Ach, um deine feuchten Schwingen,
West, wie sehr ich dich beneide:
Den du kannst ihm Kunde bringen,
Was ich in der Trennung leide.
Die Bewegung deiner Flügel
weckt im Busen stilles Sehnen;
Blumen, Auen, Wald und Hügel
Stehn bei deinem Hauch in Thränen.
Doch dein mildes, sanftes Wehen
Kühlt die wunden Augenlider;
Ach, für Leid müsstʼ ich vergehen,
Hofftʼ ich nicht zu sehn ihn wieder.
Eile den zu meinem Lieben,
Spreche sanft zu seinem Herzen;
Doch vermeidʼ ihn zu betrüben
und verbirg ihm meine Schmerzen.
Sagʼ ihm, aber sagʼs bescheiden:
Seine Liebe sei mein Leben;
Freudiges Gefühl von beiden,
Wird mir seine Nähe geben.
Francis Poulenc:
La dame dʼAndré
Text by Louise de Vilmorin (1902-1969)
Fiançailles pour rire
André ne connait pas la dame
Quʼil prend aujourdʼhui par la main.
A-t-elle un Coeur à lendemains
Et pour le soir a-t-elle une âme?
Au retour dʼun bal campagnard
Sʼen allait-elle en robe vague
Chercher dans les meules la bague
Des fiançailles du hazard?
A-t-elle eu peur, la nuit venue,
Guettée par les ombres dʼhier,
Dans son jardin lorsque lʼhiver
Entrait par la grande avenue?
to the security of the vine leaves.
It softly tempers the sunʼs incandescence
and chills my hot cheeks
As it flees the vines
which are prominent on the hills and fields
And its soft whispering
brings me a thousand greetings from my friend
Before these hills dim
I will be greeted by a thousand kisses.
So as you go on your way
and serve friends and the saddened.
There, where high walls glow
there I shall soon find my dearly beloved.
Oh the true message of his heart,
loveʼs breath, refreshing life
Comes only from his mouth can be given to me
only by his breath.
Ah, your moist wings,
West Wind, how much I envy them
For you can bring him tidings
of what I suffer in our separation
The movement of your wings
awakens in my breast a silent longing
Flowers, meadows, forests and hills
stand in tears from your breath
Yet your mild, gentle blowing
cools my aching eyelids
Ah, for sorrow I would die if
I could not hope to see him again.
Hurry then to my beloved
speak softly to his heart
But donʼt distress him
and conceal my pain
Tell him, but tell him modestly
that his love is my life
And that a joyous sense of both,
will his presence give me.
Andreʼs Lady
Engagement to Laugh
Andre doesnʼt know the lady
whom he takes today by the hand.
Has she a heart for the tomorrows,
and for the evenings, does she have a soul?
On returning from the country ball
did she wear her flowing dress
to look for in the millstones
the engagement ring to chance?
Was she afraid, when the evening came
haunted by the ghosts of yesterday
in her garden, when winter
entered by the grand avenue?
Il lʼa aimée pour sa couleur
Pour sa bonne humeur de Dimanche.
Pâlira-t-elle aux feuilles blanches
De son album des temps meilleurs?
Dans lʼherbe
Je ne peux plus rien dire ni rien faire pour lui.
Il est mort de sa belle
Il est mort de sa mort belle
Dehors Sous lʼarbre de la Loi
En plein silence
En plein paysage Dans lʼherbe.
Il est mort inaperçu
En criant son passage
En appelant, en mʼappelant
Mais comme jʼétais loin de lui
Et que sa voix ne portait plus
Il est mort seul dans les bois
Sous son arbre dʼenfance
Et je ne peux plus rien dire ni rien faire pour lui.
Il vole
En allant se coucher le soleil
se reflète au vernis de ma table:
Cʼest le fromage rond de la fable
au bec de mes ciseaux devermeil.
Mais où est le corbeau? Il vole.
Je voudrais coudre mais un aimant
Attire à lui toutes mes aiguilles.
Sur la place les joueurs de quilles
de belle en belle passent le temps.
Mais où est mon amant? Il vole.
Cʼest un voleur que jʼai pour amant.
Le corbeau vole et mon amant vole,
Voleur de Coeur manque à sa parole
et voleur de fromage est absent.
Mais où est le Bonheur? Il vole.
Je pleure sous le saule pleureur
je mêle mes larmes à ses feuilles
Je pleure car je veux quʼon me veuille
et je ne plais pas à mon voleur.
Mais où donc est lʼamour? Il vole.
Trouvez la rime à ma déraison
et par les routes du paysage
Ramenez-moi mon amant volage
Qui prend les coeurs et perd ma raison.
Je veux que mon voleur me vole.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant
Doux comme un gant de peau glacée
Et mes prunelles effaces
Font de mes yeux des cailloux blancs.
Deux cailloux blancs dans mon visage
Dans le silence duex muets
Ombres encore dʼun secret
He loved her for her color,
for her good Sunday humor.
Will she turn pale looking at the white pages
of her album of better days?
On the Grass
I can say no more nor do anymore for him.
He died for his fair one,
he died for his dead fair one
outside under the tree of law
in the middle of the silence,
in the middle of the landscape on the grass.
He died unnoticed,
weeping on his way,
calling, calling for me
but as I was far from him
and his voice no longer carried
he died alone in the forest
under his childhood tree
and I can say no more nor do anything for him.
He Flies
The setting sun
is mirrored on the polished table:
Like the fabled cheese
caught in the beak of my silver-gilt scissors.
But where is the crow? It flies.
I want to sew but a magnet
draws away all my needles.
In the square,
the skittle players while away the time.
But where is my lover? He flies.
I have a thief for a lover,
the crow steals and my lover steals
He steals my heart, leaves me with empty promises
and the crow steals the cheese and is always gone.
But where is happiness? It flies away.
I weep under the weeping-willow
and my tears mingle with the leaves
I weep for I want him to want me
but cannot please my thief
But where has love gone? It flies.
Find the rhyme of my lost reason
and through the country lanes
Bring me back my flighty love
who steals hearts and my reason.
I want my thief to steal me.
My corpse is limp as a glove
My corpse is limp as a glove,
limp as a glove of frozen skin
and my two hidden pupils
make of my eyes two white stones.
Two white stones in my face
in the silence two mute ones.
Shadows again of a secret
Et lourds du poids mort des images.
Mes doigts tant de fois égarés
Sont joint en attitude sainte
Appuyés au creux de mes plaints
Au noeud de mon Coeur arrêté.
Et mes deux pieds sont les montagnes,
Les duex derniers monts que jʼai vus
A la minute où jʼai perdu
La course que les années gagnent.
Mon souvenir est ressemblant,
Enfants emportez-le bien vite,
Allez, allez, ma vie est dite.
Mon cadavre est doux comme un gant.
Violon
Couple amoureux aux accents méconnus
Le violon et son joueur me plaisent.
Ah! Jʼaime ces gémissements tendus
Sur la corde des malaises.
Aux accords sur les cordes des pendus
A lʼheure où les Lois se taisent
Le coeur en forme de fraise
Sʼoffre à lʼamour comme un fruit inconnu.
Fleurs
Fleurs promises, fleurs tenues dans tes bras,
Fleurs sorties des parentheses dʼun pas,
Qui tʼapportait ces fleurs lʼhiver
Saupoudrées du sable des mers?
Sable de tes baisers, fleurs des amours fanées
Les beaux yeux sont de cendre et dans la
cheminée
Un coeur enrubanné de plaintes
Brûle avec ses images saintes.
Lee Hoiby:
Songs for Leontyne
Winter Song
Text by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
The browns, the olives, and the yellows died,
And were swept up to heaven; where they
glowed
Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide.
And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed,
Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed
and flowed.
From off your face, into the winds of winter,
The sun-brown and the summer-gold are
blowing;
But they shall gleam again with spiritual glinter,
When paler beauty on your brows falls
snowing,
And through those snows my looks shall be
soft-going.
and are heavy with the burdens of things seen.
My fingers so often misled
are joined in a saintly pose
resting on the hollow of my complaints
at the center of my knotted heart.
And my two feet are the mountains
the last two mountains that I saw
at the moment when I lost
the race that the years win.
My memory is resembling
children take the good quickly
go, go my life is done.
My body is as limp as a glove.
Violin
A couple in love to the unrecognized accents
the violin and its player please me.
Ah! I love these cries stretched
on a string of restlessness.
To the agreements on the ropes of the hung
at the hour when the laws are silent
The heart in the shape of a strawberry
offers itself to love like an unknown fruit.
Flowers
Promised flowers, flowers held in your arms,
Flowers which escape from the parenthesis of a
step.
Who brought you these winter flowers
sprinkled with sand from the sea -
The sand of your kisses, flowers of faded love?
Beautiful eyes made of ashes, and in the fire -
a heart ribboned with laments
burns with its treasured memories.
In the Wand of the Wind
Text by John Fandel (b. 1925)
This was a day the trees turned silver
In the wand of the wind
And wild flowers opened the eyes even of the
blind
The Meadow grasses polished
the green sickle of wind
and finches fashioned the sun
Ringing in the mind.
This was a day the trees turned silver
And finches fashioned the sun.
Autumn
Text by Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926),
translated by Harry Duncan
The leaves are falling, falling down
As far as though from gardens deep in heaven
fading.
They fall with gestures of complete negation.
And in the night the heavy earth is falling
From all the stars into its loneliness.
And we are falling, even this hand must fall,
And see, the other, too. All falling, all.
And yet, one holds all falling everywhere
Endlessly, gently, in his handʼs caress.
